Love and Chocolate
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: Russiamerica Valentines Day story. Russia is coerced into visiting America on Valentines Day to stave off the depression the younger nation feels on this particular day every year. domestic!Russia,weight conscious!America, fluff, broken english.
1. Chapter 1

**Well. I can't say I'm exactly proud of this... I kinda wrote it a little last minute and all(even though its still late for Valentines Day OTL). So um, yeah. Fluffy Russiamerica is really cute to write, I must admit. **

_February 13th, 2011_

The streetlights flicked on around him, signaling that yes, it was officially night. Ivan sighed, breathed out, invisible in the American winter. He could hardly contain himself from scoffing at this so called "storm of the century" that America had been prattling on about for the past few weeks. It was hardly a summer day in Siberia to him.

He knocked again, louder this time, rapping his knuckles against the hard oak of the door. He wasn't exactly looking forward to more of that said whining once he got inside. No doubt that was the reason the American had skipped out on the meeting today. For such a strong country, the superpower had his fair share of vulnerabilities.

He hoped briefly that no thunderstorms would strike, giving the other nation license to degenerate into a shivery, blubbery mess, hiding under the blankets and refusing to come out.

Ivan sighed again. How had he gotten roped into this again?

_"Ivan."_

_The Russian looked over his shoulder to see the Englishman, standing, as usual, with crossed arms and perpetual scowl. In turn, Ivan greeting him with a characteristic smile._

_"Yes, _Angliya_? What is it you want?"_

_"I need you to do me a favor."_

_Ivan tilted his head to the side._

_"I do believe me and my government have been very good recently. I do not feel obligated to return any favors of your-"_

_"Ivan" the Brit interrupted. Ivan narrowed his eyes slightly, enough to send a detectable flinch in the Englishman. However, he continued in his steadfast tone._

_"I need you to go check on America for me." The Englishman finally exhaled, as if he were admitting a rather shameful secret. _

_"America is a strong nation, a superpower, even. I do not believe that he needs someone to check on him."_

_"Yes, well I know more about him than you do. And I know when he starts suffering from one of his idiotic neuroses again. The boy is bloody clockwork."_

_"Why, _Angliya," _Russia played idly with the buttons of the coat, "Does America need help on such a day? I recall no specific significance of any sort during this month-"_

_"Don't ask me why. I don't know why. All I know is that the git gets it into his head every February 14th to sit in his house all day, skip meetings, and stuff his already overstuffed mouth with candies and chocolates. For the past few decades I've had to visit the damn idiot to make sure he doesn't make his stomach burst. It's stupid, self destructive behavior, and I'm sick of being the one who always has to take care of him."_

_"Ah! I understand it, _Angliya_. Similar to what one certain nation does around the beginning of July each year, yes? I fear I do not remember such nation's name-"_

_"Oh, come of it, you bloody bastard. Alfred's just being a git. The day has no specific significance for him in any manner."_

_"And why do you not do it, _Angliya_? What about the 'special relationship,' yes?"_

_The Brit rolled his eyes._

_"Please. That has nothing to do with this."_

_"Still. I do not understand why you are unable to take care of one small capitalist."_

_"Oh yes. Let me just push aside any meetings of true international importance that I may have today in order to cater to that idiot's inexplicable need for attention. I'm not his bloody nursemaid."_

_"And I am?"_

_"I didn't say-"_

_"Do you not consider that perhaps I have issues I must take care of today? I as well perhaps have no time to deal with silly capitalist nonsense?"_

_"You don't think that I mean that-you don't have any plans today, do you?"_

_"No. I do not. But it is unkind of you to believe so in the first place."_

_The Englishman bit his lip. "Ivan. I could care less about that idiot's wellbeing, I really could, but-The stupid git is going to end up killing himself one of these days. He's already on the fast track to become a diabetic fatass, and it certainly doesn't help that ego of his when he gains a few pounds because of this ridiculous eating binge-"_

_"It cannot be that bad, _Angliya-"

_"And then he gets depressed, calling me at ridiculous hours of the night because the absolute git cannot seem to grasp the concept of different time zones and whines to me about not being able to fit into his pants-"_

_"_Angliya_. Stop. I will do as you ask."_

_The Englishman looked surprised, as if he hadn't expected Ivan to agree at this point._

_"R-really? You will?"_

_"Da. Anything to stop this prattling of you about _Amerika_."_

_He brushed past the Englishman, unhooking his heavy winter coat from the coatrack near the door._

_"Ivan."_

_The Russian turned, his coat half on, half off._

_"Yes, _Angliya_?"_

_Ivan thought he saw a smile quirk on the Englishman's lips._

_"Just make sure the moron doesn't eat himself to death." _

He knocked again on the door, harder this time, noticing with a slightly smile that thin brown crack that formed under his fist. Perhaps he would break the door down?

He mused over what England had said as he waited. Was the American truly that desperate for attention that he would be content with a former enemy arriving to keep him company? Ivan couldn't fathom why England had asked him, of all people, to check on the American. Additionally, he couldn't fathom why the American would be distraught on such a day, a day which he had recently learned was some form of American holiday that celebrated love through gifts of foods and items.

Really, Ivan despised the idea of such a holiday. It touched beyond his distaste of blatant consumerism, he had learned to accept that somewhat as an essential evil of the changing world. Rather, what annoyed him most was the dilution of romantic love into the giving of material things. Ivan knew that, despite his exterior, he was a romantic, with a taste for peaceful walks in parks and beautiful dinners and gazing into each others eyes.

He doubted there would be much time for any of those things if he were to spend the day with America.

He slammed his fist against the door harder this time, effectively snapping the deadbolt from the door with a loud crack.

The Russian blinked in surprise. He had not meant to hit the door that hard…

Shrugging it off, he gently eased the door open and stepped inside the house.

"_Amerika_? Are you in here?

The entrance hall was dark, although Russia could see dull light peeking out from both doorways near the end of the hallway.

"_Amerika_?"

Hearing no reply, Russia kicked off his snow uncrushed boots and shrugged off his thick winter coat, hanging it on a nearby prong. He was almost beginning to feel warm in this pitiable North American winter.

Striding down the hall, he peeked through one of the lit doorways, which led to a kitchen. Surprisingly empty of the young country's presence, Ivan moved to the other door way, which was more dully lit than the kitchen. The walls flicked between light and dark shadows as the images on a large plasma screen TV danced about, continuing their intricate lightplay on the Russian's pale face.

It was then that Russia noticed a red, white, and blue blob curled up on the couch. Russia allowed himself a brief laugh as it shifted, and he saw a mop of golden hair and a pair of blue eyes stare out at him.

"What're you doin' here?" came the half hearted mumbled from within the mass of sweatshirt and sweatpants huddled on the overstuffed couch.

Ivan noticed with a disparaging look the various empty wrappers and heart shaped boxes that piled on top of the couch and a nearby coffee table. He let a terse breath escape from between his teeth. England wasn't kidding.

"I suppose that it is customary on American holiday to skip meeting and to sit and gorge oneself?" Ivan allowed himself a wry smile.

"Serves 'em right for putting a meeting on a Sunday," the American grumbled.

"I suppose, but you do not plan to come tomorrow either, da?"

"I can't help it if-if Valentine's Day falls on a weekday." He stuttered over the words. Russia wondered why.

The silence that followed was interrupted as Alfred blurted out artlessly.

"Are you going to go now?"

Ivan strode over to the table and sat on the other end of the couch as a response, arms folded, staring at the American with an amused look.

"_Nyet_, _Amerika_. I have heard of your tendency to eat yourself into these-what did you tell me they were once? Ah, yes, these 'food comas,' that you described. I cannot help but think that eating yourself into one of those is not beneficial to your health, and certainly is not an appropriate response to the existence of such a silly holiday."

America pulled his legs, clad in blue sweatpants up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He shot the Russian another annoyed look.

"Whatever," Alfred shrugged, "Why is it going to matter to you what I do?"

America leaned forward with a grunt, shifting on the couch as he reached towards one of the half empty boxes of chocolate on the nearby table.

"_Amerika_," Ivan caught him by the wrist, causing the American to shoot the Russian with an annoyed glare. He clutched one chocolate in his hand, holding onto it as if it were a precious jewel.

"What?" He responded gruffly, struggling against the Russian's bearlike hold. Ivan tightened his grip and roughly pulled Alfred away from the table.

"Such rudeness, little one. Is it not in American custom to offer one's guest before helping oneself? Though, if I am truthful, it is not much surprising-"

The American stopped trying to pull his wrist away and lowered his eyes. Ivan smirked.

"D-do you want it?" The Russian looked down, to where the American held the chocolate tentatively in his hand. Ivan cocked his head, appraising the lumpy looking sweet in Alfred's palm.

He mind flashed back to the promise he made to England to stop the boy from gorging himself to the point of immobility. From how the Englishman had spoken, it seemed that that had happened before.

He tried to reason why he would dare to each the sugar laden landmine. After all, one more chocolate that he ate would be one less than disappeared into the American's mouth.

Also, he _had_ just chastised the boy for not sharing, it would be rude for him to reject such an offer.

Finally, he nodded, taking the chocolate from the American's outstretched palm.

"_D-da_, _Amerika_."

Ivan swallowed down the bile that threatened to rise in his throat as he took the chocolate in his hand, examining it, twirling the fat brown lump between his fingers. It was adorned with a thick, vibrant red icing, garishly decorating the sweet with a large, loopy heart.

He felt himself fattening just by touching the toxic thing.

The look in the boy's wide blue eyes forced down the groan that rose in his throat. Forcing a smile, he brought the chocolate to his mouth and took a tenuous bite, breaking off a small chunk of the sweet and swallowing it whole.

Ivan forced his grimace in a slight smile for the American intently watching him, although his mouth felt as if it were coated in wax.

"Are you going to finish that?" Alfred pointed to the half eaten chocolate in Ivan's hand, wetting his lips.

"Well, I am not sure-"

"Well, don't waste it-" Before Ivan could respond, the American had leaned forward and plucked the sweet from his fingers with his mouth, pink tongue unintentionally flicking on of Ivan's fingers.

There was a touch of warm saliva on Ivan's finger. He blinked in surprised, snapping out of the stupor only when he realized America was reaching for the box _again_-

This time, instead of restraining the boy, he snatched the box up from the table and held it away from the Alfred's grabbing hands as the American boy flung himself at the Russian like an addict desperate for his next fix.

"Fuckin' commie-give it back-"

"_Nyet_, little one, I am believing it that you have had too much already-"

"Shut up! You can't tell me what to do, russki! He latched roughly onto Russia's arm, trying to pull the box back towards him.

"Give-it-_back!_"

America yanked back hard on Russia's arm, causing him to lurch forward. Ivan lost his balance on the tiny couch, and as America's weight lurched to the side as a result of his harsh tug, he pulled them both off the cushions, sending Ivan toppling to the floor.

Ivan landed hard on his forearms with a hiss, shutting his eyes temporarily. _Stupid, stupid overweight capitalist brat._ He cursed inside his head. _Always with the stupid antics._

Russia opened his eyes, with the complete intention of looking for where the American had surely scrambled off to with his newly won box of chocolates, ready to chastise him for his idiocy.

But his anger softened as he opened his eyes and realized that the American had landed beneath him, with Ivan practically pinning him to the ground. Despite himself, he felt a certain heat rush to his face.

The American seemed to have frozen up completely the moment he had hit the floor, his eyes squeezed shut, the rest of his face buried deep in the sweatshirt which, Ivan had noticed, was several sizes too big for him-

He blinked several times, finding himself strangely entranced by the American's flushed face, his glasses knocked askew and his blonde hair ruffled from their tussle on the couch. Only when the American peeked his eyes open did Ivan respond. He covered his face with a cool hand that he hoped would reduce the heat in his cheeks.

"Ah-I am sorry, _Amerika_." He stuttered out, sitting up and scrambling to get off the American's hips.

As soon as he did so the American drew away like a scared animal, huddling against the couch and staring at the floor.

Ivan felt a pang in his chest. _Had he hurt the American?_

"_Amerika-" _He started, but Alfred curled into himself at the sound of his voice, bringing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his jeans. Ivan tilted his head sadly.

"_Amerika, _listen-"

"Why don't you just leave?" The muffled murmur came from the pathetic little ball.

The Russian let out a small sigh. America was simply a child. A child who for some reason was distraught over one silly little over-commercialized holiday-

So he did what he thought would be best to comfort children: he moved over the where Alfred was sitting, ignoring the annoyed glare that he sent his way, and pulled the American into his arms.

The American stiffened and immediately protested his touch. He heard annoyed noises and mumbles of "Leggo, commie" and "Stupid russki," but he only constricted his hold further as he felt the boy tried to pull away. Eventually, the American stopped squirming, but his body remained tensed and on edge.

"Why are you doing this?" came a pitiful whine from the bundle smothered to his chest.

Russia bit his lip. Naturally, he could admit the real reason why he came, because the Englishman had requested it of him-but he had a feeling that saying so would simply dampen the American's already low spirits.

"Because, I am worrying about you, yes?"

Alfred untucked his head from the Russian's chest, nesting it into his shoulder and looking up with questioning blue eyes.

"Really?" His voice was tinged with incredulity, and perhaps a little bit of hope that yes, the Russian did mean it.

Russia worried his lip under his teeth further, almost feeling the sting of blood.

If this had happened a few decades ago, he surely would be breaking a few of the American ribs rather than trying to soothe him. By all right he shouldn't be here, comforting a nation too strong and too powerful and with too many responsibilities to be allowed to act like a pouting child.

But there was no reason for him to distress the boy further.

"Yes," He mumbled, taking the chance to run his fingers through the American's hair in what he hoped was a comforting motion. Because that's why he was doing it, yes? To comfort the boy.

But Ivan felt a thrill of happiness as Alfred let out a contented noise and nuzzled further into the Russian's shoulder. Ivan smiled and dropped his arms to the American's waist, where he squeezed him lightly.

America let out a groan at the embrace.

"Owwww," he whined, then pouted, "Stupid commie, don't _do _that."

Russia smiled and twisted a strand of the American's hair between his fingers.

"What is wrong now, _Amerika_?" He curiously poked Alfred's cheek. He shifted uncomfortably, letting out frustrated whines.

"My head hurts," Alfred moaned, "Stomach too."

Russia chuckled and let his eyes fall on the piles of empty chocolate boxes adorning the table.

"Too many sweets, little one," he prodded the American's side through his bulky sweatshirt, "You do not want to get fat, da?"

America flinched at the touch, starting to fidget in the Russian's arms again. Ivan tried to meet his eyes, but the American looked away. Ivan thought he saw a tinge of pink on the boy's cheek.

"Let me go," he murmured, hands coming to Russia's chest in an attempt to push him away.

"Why, _Amerika_?"

The boy let out a puff of air before settling his head back on Ivan's shoulder, pouting.

"'Cause you're makin' fun of me." he stated sleepily.

"I am merely observing. If you do not want it to hurt, than you must not eat so much, _da_?"

"I guess." He mumbled, trying to shift into a more comfortable position against the Russian's body, accidentally pushing his elbow against Russia's stomach. Ivan stifled his desire to cuff the American on the head under a smile.

"It will only hurt more if you continue to move, da?" The words came out more threateningly than he wanted them to be.

Alfred finally settled into a comfortable position, with his legs folded underneath him, leaning up against the Russian with his hands curled up onto Ivan' chest, his head resting on the juncture of his arm and shoulder.

"Fine." Alfred mumbled, tugging the end of Ivan's scarf over the exposed side of his face. "You're cold as hell, russki, but you're pretty comfortable and all, I guess."

Ivan hummed in agreement, resuming his gentle stroking of the American's head. Ivan began to drift into daydreams, his experience at the American's house turned out quieter and more pleasant than he had expected.

He felt the warm curl of even breaths on his neck and looked down on the American's face with a smile, only to find Alfred's eyes closed and his face relaxed. He felt annoyance flit through his body.

"No, no," he started, placing a hand on the American's shoulder, as if to shake him awake, "_Amerika_, you cannot fall asleep here-" He stopped, tensed.

He let out an annoyed sigh. This was like the child, to force himself upon others like this-

_What to do, what to do_ he mused over in his head. Without realizing it, he had begun to gently stroke the American's back, lightly tracing his spine with his fingertips.

He could wake the American up, of course. Then he would have all the freedom to leave. But despite himself, he found that he didn't want to leave. Not yet, at least. Perhaps he would stay to at least the morning, to make sure the American was all right and he wouldn't, as England put it, "eat himself to death". He supposed if the American's stomach decided to explode it would be bad for the world. And certainly such an problem would be blamed on Russia himself. Yes, he would stay for those reasons.

But they could not stay on the floor like this. That was not an option. He would have to move America to his bed, or at least back onto the couch. Ivan's legs were already numbed from where the American's weight rested, and he imagined the floor would not be very comfortable, should he choose to lie down.

Ivan was about to move to shift the American off of him when he chanced a glance at the young man's face. He felt his heart swell at the look of utter peace and contentment across features that were normally either stressed out or smiling. There was a delicateness to these features that he had never noticed before, complemented by a sort of childish vulnerability. He couldn't bear to disturb that look.

Resigning himself to a night of restless sleep, Russia leaned back as slowly as he could until his back touched the cool wood of the wood, holding the American against him until his head rested against his chest. He smiled at the soft whistling of the American's breath. Gently he reached up and slipped the American's glasses from his face and set them on the couch, then grabbing for a corner of the blanket that the American had wrapped himself up in. He pulled it down until it settled on top of both of them, Russia making sure that Alfred was completely covered. When he was done, he placed his arms around the American's back with a contented sigh.

Of course, he would move eventually. There was no chance of him staying on the floor the entire night as the American slept. As soon as he was sure Alfred was sleeping soundly, he would move himself.

Ivan closed his eyes _for only a moment_ and felt himself murmuring soothing phrases in Russian as he felt his mind drift off.


	2. Chapter 2

_February 14th, 2011_

Ivan woke to the white sunlight filtering through the crack in the living room drapes. He brought a hand up to his eyes to shield them, craning his head up to look around, momentarily forgetting where he was and what he was doing here. Eventually, his eyes fell on mop of golden hair lying next to him, glinting in the filtering light.

_Oh._

At some time during the night, the American had slipped off him onto the floor beside the Russian, with one arm still flung across Ivan's chest. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the weight of it move up and down each breathe he took.

_It was…strangely comforting._

He turned his head completely to the side and flushed as he felt the warm breath from Alfred mouth flick over his face.

_Amerika was very very close, wasn't he?_

Ivan noticed a glittery little pool by the American's face, a string of silver dangling from his mouth. Ivan chuckled softly. The American had been drooling, just like a babe would do. Perhaps Ivan _was_ the boy's nursemaid.

Ivan dared to reach out a hand and wipe the warm drool from the American's lips. Doubtless he would be hungry when he woke. Then again, it seems America was always hungry.

Perhaps he should make the man breakfast.

As carefully as he could he eased the man's arm off from his body and tucked it into Alfred's side. As he slowly rose to his feet he draped the rest of the blanket over the American, covering any errant limbs that had become uncovered during the night. Content with the young man's position, Ivan made his way into the kitchen.

What was the American always going on about when he was with that one strange nation? Pancakes. That was it.

Russia noticed an open book on the counter, with one of the visible pages dog eared. Russia mused over it for a few seconds until he found it-_Chocolate Chip Pancakes._ The American must have been planning on making them. Ivan smiled. He would give the young American a surprise.

He bent down and rummaged through the bottom cupboards, trying to make the least amount of noise as possible. After a few minutes of looking he had gathered the a few bowls and mixing spoons, more than capable of whipping up a simple batch of pancakes.

He scanned over the recipe again, and set about looking for the ingredients. Russia was sure he would have no problem finding any chocolate in America's kitchen.

Russia mused on why he was doing this as he pulled the ingredients from the cupboards and set them out on the marble counter. Here he was, caring for his once most hated enemy, on orders from _England_, of all people.

That's why he was doing this, right? Because England had asked him to?

_Right? _

He chuckled softly to himself and pushed the errant thought out of his head. Of course. There was no other reason he would be here.

Ivan was too occupied with these strange thoughts, along with the cracking of eggs and the mixing of ingredients, to register the sound of shuffling and sleepy feet behind him.

He started slightly as he felt the American's chin lean over his shoulder, his cheek just barely brushing up against Ivan's. He quietly ignored the heat that rushed to his face.

"Hi there." Alfred said thickly, brain still addled in sleep, winding his arms around the Russian's waist.

The little one had always been too touchy and personal for his own good.

He remembered a time, back when the child was still having his Civil War, when the American boy refused to have Russian leave his side for weeks on end, relying on his ally as if he were the last person in the world and clutching onto his hand as if it were his only lifeline.

"Hello, young one." He turned his head slightly to give the American a small half smile, but the the boy had buried his face into Russia's shirt.

That needy, desperate boy had disappeared not long after, replaced by a self righteous, confident and arrogant young man, who seemed to have a natural glow of independence and capability. Only yesterday had the Russian seen him resurface, making him realize how rare it was for the American to show his vulnerability in these modern times.

"Smells good," He mumbled into Russia's shirt, "You making me breakfast?"

"It would appear that way, yes?"

He felt Alfred smile into his shoulder.

"You're so nice to me all of a sudden," he laid his head sideways on the Russian's shoulder and closed his eyes, "Dumb Red."

Ivan couldn't help the small smile that quirked at his lips. He tilted his head to the side, just barely brushing the American's hair against his cheek.

"Go sit down, little one. It is almost done."

Alfred looked up, and, for the first time, smiled brightly at Ivan.

"Okay!" He chirped, unwinding his arms from the Russian's waist and bobbing over to the table.

Moments later the Russian set a large stack of pancakes before the excitable American, who's eyes immediately lit up at the sight. The fire in those eyes send a surge of warmth across Russia's chest.

"Dude!" Alfred's grin spread across his face as he poked one of the pancakes with a fork, "Chocolate chips! Sweet!"

Ivan chuckled and ruffled the American's hair, teasing Nantucket lightly between his fingers. Apparently it was his turn to be "touchy" now-

"Just remember our talk yesterday, little one. You do not want another stomach ache, yes?"

The American's response was lost amidst the sound of clinking forks and food being scarfed. Russia continued to hover beside him, petting his hair, although America didn't seem to mind.

After awhile, this began to concern Ivan. It had truly been decades since he had been this close to Alfred, much the less touched him. Ever since the beginning of the Union, their relationship had been somewhat strained.

But now Alfred was acting different. He was letting the Russian touch him, _rather tenderly, in fact_, and was acting in a way that seemed as if he truly wanted the Russian's affections, and his company.

Ivan frowned. Alfred was acting different than one would act around a former enemy, and a current tenuous ally at most.

Ivan decided that he would figure out why.

"Alfred."

He turned around in his seat, the use of his real name just enough to draw the American away from the prospect of food. Ivan's heart stopped as the boy looked up at him, his blues eyes glinting behind blonde bangs and gold rimmed glasses and his lips a perfect curve of pink marred only by a splotch of chocolate chip. Everything about him beckoned to be touched.

Before he could stop himself, Ivan reached forward and placed a gently finger on the American's lips, shuddering inwardly at their plump softness. His finger moved to the splotch of chocolate, lingering for a moment.

Alfred jerked back slightly from the touch, glaring at the Russian.

"S-stop it, asshole." he spluttered against the Russian's hand.

Ivan smirked and lifted his finger, the dab of chocolate still splotched invitingly on the American's lips.

"Very well."

His other hand rose to tangle in the back of the American's hair as he swooped down, capturing the other's lips in his own. He felt Alfred breath sharply, momentarily tensed before slowly easing into it, responding with more enthusiasm than Ivan had expected.

_Well. That answered that question_.

Laughing inwardly, he leaned in further into the kiss, pressing the American's hips up against the kitchen table and sliding a thigh up between Alfred' legs.

Alfred gasped lightly, opening his mouth just enough to give the Russian entrance, an opportunity that Ivan fully explored. He slid his hands up the American's sides, tracing them lightly as he tongue slipped into the other's mouth.

His tongue lapped at the warmth of the Alfred's mouth, wrestling with the submissive muscle of the American's. He drew back momentarily to nip at his pink lips, trailing a line of saliva along the bottom, intrigued at the low whine building in the American's throat.

It was delightful to taste the chocolate in the other's mouth, he noted. Much more delightful than the experience of actual eating the toxic things.

"You're sweet, Alfred." He purred against the American's lips, before delving in deeper, swallowing Alfred's response between the kisses.

_But there was one thing he was still curious about-_

Russia gently felt around for the edge of the Alfred's sweatshirt, distracting the American by probing deeper in his mouth, tangling with his tongue and running his own over the other's teeth. He gently fingered the edge of the jacket, bolstered as he sucked down another one of the American's quiet moans.

Without allowing himself to feel guilty, Ivan jerked his arms upwards. Alfred let out a surprised squeak as the baggy sweatshirt was pulled off over his head and tossed aside, reflexively bringing his arms up to shield his body from the other's view.

Ivan immediately saw his mistake as the the American instantly shut down, pulling away from the Russia and zipping his lips tightly. Gently, he caught the other's wrists in his hands, but for the moment made no attempt to draw them out of the American's protective hold.

America's eyes were scrunched shut, his face bright red, his lower lip caught under his teeth. To Russia, it looked as if the American was on the verge of tears.

"_Amerika_-" Russia started

"D-don't," Alfred wrapped his arms securely around his middle and tucked his chin into his chest.

"What is wrong, little one?" Alfred shook his head.

"C-can you just, like, go or something? Please? I-"

"Little one," Russia interrupted, "I am not going to leave you." He put his hand on top of the American's head and ruffled his fingers through his hair, teasing the strands of gold between them.

America's breath hitched painfully as he pulled back from Ivan's touch, daring to look up into the Russian's violet eyes.

"B-but I don't want you to see." He spoke shamefully, cheeks coloring brighter.

Ivan sighed in frustration. "What are you talking about, young one?"

America clutched his hands tighter around his middle, and suddenly Ivan understood. _Of course._

Ivan sighed. _It would appear that America was in need of another ego boost_.

He hoisted the boy off the ground, ignoring his squirms and yelps of protest, and set him gently on the counter opposite the table. He puts his hands over the American's, holding them agains the cold countertop. He pressed his body into America's to prevent the boy from drawing his legs up and pushing the Russia away.

Russia treated America's anxious glare with a reassuring smile, placing a gently kiss on the bridge of Alfred's nose.

"_Podsolnechnik_, listen to me." He said, pulling back slightly to trace his lips down the American's neck, to his collarbone, and down his chest.

Russia leaned down further, gently nuzzling his nose into the American's stomach. Alfred flinched and let out a low moan as Russia snaked his tongue and drew a line of saliva over the pink flesh. He teased the skin gently under his teeth

"It does not matter to me," He mumbled against the American's stomach, "what you appear to be externally," he leaned upwards again and captured Alfred's mouth in kiss as tender and sweet as the Russian could manage.

"Do you understand me?" He breathed in the American's mouth. When he was returned with a surprising, forceful smashing of lips, Ivan took it as his answer. He released the American's hands from his grasp as his own fell to Alfred's sides, feeling up the contours of the other's flesh.

But, out of everything, Ivan reveled in the taste. His forbidden fruit had always been this, entirely too sweet and processed but still endearing and sincere, comforting-

His body moved of its own accord now and he pressed further and further, wanting more and more, his hands stroking and squeezing as they ran up and down the American's side, finally exploring further down, tugging at the other's pants-

"Nng" Alfred struggled against the Russian's lips, "W-wait, Ivan, stop-"

Ivan laughed softly to indulge the other before probing deeper with his fingers, slipping them beneath the boy's waistband, gliding over his hipbones-

He spluttered in surprise as a jet of something wet and cold hit the side of his face. He pulled away from Alfred's lips and touched the side of his face, feeling the wetness that dribbled down the side. He looked at the American in shock, seeing the shy and cheeky grin that now adorned the boy's face. And in his hand was-

One of those spraying faucets from the sink-

The Russian stared blankly for a few moments.

_T-the capitalist brat-_

Russia snatched the faucet from America's hand, and this time it was his turn to sport a grin. The America opened his mouth to speak but moments later it was filled with water as the Russian mercilessly doused the other. America spluttered and put his hands in front of his face, unable to contain his amused giggles, despite himself.

"Do not think that you can escape, young one!" Ivan's eyes were lit with childish delight.

America awkwardly slid off the counter and half stumbled, half slipped for cover, laughing breathlessly all the way before ducking down behind the table.

"Nu-uh, commie! You're gunna have to come get me!"

Ivan smiled, stopping the spray of water and standing perfectly still. America was much like a small animal, curious, easy to lure-

Sure enough, the golden head poked up from behind the tabletop, peering with anxious blue eyes.

"Ivan are you-"

He was interrupted as a torrent on water soaked his hair, quickly ducking back down.

Ivan laughed and set the faucet back on the counter before creeping around the table to be greeted by the sight of a disheveled American, hair dripping wet and clothes damp. He met the Russian with a mock frown and crossed his arms.

"You're evil."

Russia kneeled down in front of the American.

"Has it taken you two hundred years to figure out that much?" He put a hand on the American's thigh and patted it.

"Are you all right, _dorogoy_? While you were only playing, I can't help but think you were wanting away for certain reason."

Alfred's expression dropped.

"I'm sorry."

"No, do not apologize, it is not you're fault." He tucked a piece of wet hair behind Alfred's ear and placed a kiss on his cheek.

"I didn't mean to push you," he whispered against the American's skin. Alfred smiled and scratched his head.

"I know, Russki, I was just being stupid. I don't why I was so," he shrugged, "Weird about it, I guess."

Ivan ran his other hand lightly up and down the American's arm, giving his bicep a squeeze.

"Ah. Perhaps you are like young females, yes? You wish to be courted, is that true?"

"Uh, well," America tilted his head to look into the Russian's eyes, "I mean, its not like I don't want to, but-"

Ivan realized the American's glasses were slightly askew, in a boyish way that made the Russian's heart stop.

"Maybe we could go on, I dunno, like a date or something. We can just do that first, maybe"

Ivan smiled and took the American's hands in his.

"Of course, my little sunflower. Where is it you would like to go?" He got up, gently pulling the American to his feet.

"W-well, there's this park close by, sometimes I like to walk through there-" Russia smirked. The idea of the energetic young nation in such a peaceful, natural place was amusing.

"And there's this really nice restaurant close by, they have really good food-"

Ivan had to laugh at that. Naturally, the American couldn't fathom doing anything without the possibility of a good meal.

"Very well, little one. But first, you must change, yes? Do not hide yourself behind such unflattering clothing," He pulled at the waistband of the blue sweatpants.

"Okay, yeah. These probably need to be washed anyway…" America lingered a little further, unwilling to let go of the Russian's hands, but finally retreated from the kitchen after planting one last kiss on Russia's cheek.

Flushing from the American's own display of affection, Ivan made his way into the foe, ignoring the dirty dishes and plate still half full of pancakes. That could wait until later.

He pulled his coat from the peg where he had hung it earlier, slipping it about his shoulders without bothering to button it up just yet.

He heard the sound of loud, bounding footsteps behind him and turned to see Alfred moving towards him, award winning smile plastered across his face. Briefly, Ivan let his eyes taken in the American's new attire: a pair of jeans just tight enough to show off the curve of his thighs, a similarly tight fitting black shirt, and the trademark leather jacket that he was currently worming his arms through.

_Oh yes. Much better than the sweatshirt and sweatpants. _

"Hey Russki! You ready?" Alfred bounded towards the Russian and tackled him in an enthusiastic hug, which Ivan returned.

"Yes, Alfred." Ivan couldn't contain himself, he felt spurred by the American's change of clothing, enough to tilt the other's chin up and press another deep kiss against his lips, bringing his hands up to cradle the other's face.

Alfred broke away a few seconds later, but still remained close to the Russian's face.

"Ivan? Can-can i ask you something?"

The Russian rubbed casual circles on the American's face with his thumb.

"Of course. Anything you want." His breath curled in Alfred's mouth as he brought him closer.

"How long?" Alfred mumbled against the Russian's lips. Ivan drew back a fraction, just enough so that he could meet the American's eyes. He let a gentle finger trail down the side of the other's face as he mused over the question in his head.

_How long?_

He wasn't sure. He didn't believe that he'd even been aware of these feelings until now. His brow furrowed. Perhaps there had been something there since the fall of the Union, but he couldn't pinpoint it.

"I am not sure." He stated, but placed a reassuring kiss on Alfred's forehead in an attempt to assure the man that _ he knew now, it didn't matter what he had felt in the past or when he had started feeling this way, because he knew it now-_

"Oh."

Was it Ivan's imagination, or did America sound slightly disconcerted?

Alfred looped the edge of Ivan's scarf around his fingers.

"It's…it's been awhile, for me…"

Russia raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking down at the American boy. He stole a quick glance up into the violet eyes but quickly looked back down. He awkwardly fingered the edge of Russia's scarf. Russia tilted his head.

"Since-since the end of the Union?"

"Uh, no."

"Y-Yalta?" Russia offered a half hearted smile as his fingers carded through the boy's hair. He supposed that the boy's affections may have been born from wartime stress and need for companionship-

But the boy gave a slight shake of the head. Russia felt an uneasiness sink in his stomach. He hoped dearly that the American hadn't been feeling this way since before the Union.

He decided to ask. "Was it after the Union-"

Russia felt a surge of guilt as America shook his head again, cutting him off. Had America really kept this secret for so long?

He tucked a stray lock of the American's hair behind his ear.

"Your Civil War, _Amerika_?"

His breath hitched in his throat as the American froze up, indicating that Ivan had hit the nail on the head. The Russian felt a surge of guilt through his veins.

He put his arms around on his American's shoulders and pulled him in closer.

"I am very sorry, _podsolnechnik._ I wish-I wish so very much that I could make it up to you. It-it must have been very painful for you, _da_?"

He nestled his nose into his American's hair, inhaling the smell of chocolate and the faint scent of roses, placing another kiss into the soft scalp.

Moments later they pulled apart, Ivan's hands settled on Alfred's shoulders, rubbing them gently, while the American began to button up the other's coat with careful, measured hands.

"I'll be ready tonight." he whispered.

"What do you say, little one?"

America didn't meet Russia'a eyes, instead busying himself with adjusting the Russian's scarf and wrapping it more securely around his neck. Ivan's heart fluttered as Alfred's warm fingers brushed the side of his throat.

"I was nervous earlier but I know for sure I'll be ready tonight. That's okay, right?" He chanced a glance up.

"You'll be all right with that, big guy?"

He smiled, taking one of his American's warm hand from where they were tousling his scarf and brought the knuckle up to his lips, where he placed a cool kiss.

"Yes."

Alfred's eyes lit up, bright with childish happiness but also something deeper that Ivan couldn't quite pinpoint. But whatever it was that his American boy's eyes were trying to say, it made Ivan feel warm.

He was wrenched out of his musings by Alfred, who began to pull Ivan towards the door, babbling excitedly all the way.

"Dude, I'm serious, the food there is great. I mean they have all that fancy stuff but if you ask them real nicely they'll make you a hamburger-"

"Alfred, I would think that you would want to eat more better after your problems of yesterday and this morning yes?"

"Hey! It's a holiday, Russki. On holidays you don't have to think about the stuff you eat! I'll start my diet again tomorrow, I swear."

"Whatever you say, _solynysko."_

In fact, Ivan truly did agree with Alfred. He was already planning to buy the American all the globs of chocolate and red dye that his heart desired tonight, as well as any small gift that would give Alfred even the smallest inkling of joy. Naturally it would not be used as a proxy for his own, pure affections, but he figured it would not hurt to shower his little one with all types of love on their first day together.

Perhaps this silly, consumerist holiday, along with this silly, consumerist country, was beginning to grow on him.


End file.
